Ali, 58

Any pressure to have sex doesn’t come from James – it comes from within, from a fear of complete loss

I used to really enjoy sex, but since menopause my drive has completely disappeared. I just don’t feel like a sexual being any more. The problem isn’t that I’m too dry – it’s more mental. I don’t even enjoy kissing, touching or oral as much as I used to. Although I feel a huge amount of grief over the loss of my sexuality, I honestly couldn’t care less if I never have sex again.

Any pressure to have sex doesn’t come from James – it comes from within, from a fear of complete loss. I still have some hope, but I’ve always been a glass-half-empty kind of person, shy and self-conscious. When I met James at work eight-and-a-half years ago, I actually wanted sex more than he did, and because I lacked confidence I immediately assumed he didn’t find me attractive, or that something was wrong with me.

I have always enjoyed my own company, but menopause has heightened my desire to be alone, and 10 months ago I moved out of the house we had shared for seven years. Living together, I felt overwhelmed – I felt as if I’d lost myself, having given too much to James. Losing my mum, my sons leaving home and perimenopause left me feeling anxious and depressed. I wanted my independence back, and moving into my own place gave me that. And without James there I don’t feel obliged to have sex.

James is fun, lighthearted, intelligent, an amazing father to his three children. He’s a great conversationalist and we share similar world views. We’re best friends, but who could blame him if he wanted to go and find someone else? When I say that to him, he can react defensively, saying, “Well I might.” More often, he says our connection is too strong to give up on. But I don’t think it’s fair on him to have to give up sex to be with me. Sometimes I wonder if we could just be friends, but I think I’d struggle knowing he was having sex with someone else.

James, 65

We still make love, but not to the extent that Ali wants or remembers. We’ve found new ways to be intimate

The older I get, the more I realise how important intellectual stimulation is. In terms of emotional intimacy and affection, Ali and I have never been stronger. But without her once-high sex drive, Ali says she feels like less of a woman. She misses the kinkier sex we once had, but I honestly don’t. I tell her conversation and closeness are enough, but I don’t know if she believes me.

When we got together, Ali was more sexually adventurous than me. I’d never had a partner lead before and was stunned by her energy, which made her question whether I wanted to be with her. Now we don’t live together, we schedule time to be intimate, but I have no expectations of how that will turn out. I’ll run us a bath, and massage her. Sometimes we have sex, but if I sense she’s uncomfortable, I stop. I’ve become good at reading her body language. I’d rather cuddle than feel as if she’s doing something she doesn’t want to. I always give her space to say no.

Ali says, “I don’t know why you want to be with me. Why don’t you just have sex with someone else?” Sometimes I say, “OK, I will,” to provoke a reaction – maybe she’ll realise she could lose me and fight for me. But it just makes her more insecure. Other times I hold her and tell her I love her. There’s little to help men understand menopause, and I tend to respond practically rather than emotionally. We even discussed separating around the time Ali moved out. It took a lot of work to realise it was menopause causing the sudden changes in how she felt.

We still make love, but we’ve found new ways to be intimate: baths, long hugs, holding hands while watching a film. A few nights apart each week give Ali the space she needs. She wants to be “living apart together” long-term, but I don’t. The chances of meeting someone who stimulates me like she does are a million to one – any sex we have is just a bonus.